


Friends

by strange_seas



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M, non!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 02:23:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17133260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strange_seas/pseuds/strange_seas
Summary: “It’s a bad religion, this unrequited love.” - Frank Ocean





	Friends

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LiveJournal on February 14, 2014. Written to Frank Ocean’s “Bad Religion.” Highly recommend it if you want to get in the mood for this.

"People are bizarre," Luhan mutters under his breath. It's a windy day in Seoul, and he and Minseok have taken a break from practice to grab coffees at the place on the corner. They can already see the mess of hands dropping hot lattes in favor of smartphones; the toast of tiny camera lenses raised to them in greeting. "Why is it such a big deal when we're out together?"  
  
Minseok is more patient. "They're just excited, Luhan. That's how fans get." He slides the money for his iced Americano over the counter.  
  
"Yes, I  _know_ ," Luhan retorts, his voice pitched low. "What I meant is that when you and I are spotted wherever, it turns into this tabloid free-for-all." He screws up his mouth, and someone squeals  _cute_ in the background. "We aren't even doing anything. Skinship Level: 0." He crosses his wrists in front of his chest and taps them together for emphasis.  
  
Minseok mimics the action, his own arms forming the shape of an X, and the  _cute_ swells in volume with the added voices behind it.  
  
Luhan laughs. "You do realize what's going to happen when we get home. Tao is probably speed-reading fan accounts right now so he can fill us in on all the gossip later."  
  
Minseok hums, placing his hands back on the counter.  
  
"Like how we came strolling in here whispering—and literally, all I said you to was, 'Minseok, it's cold.' Or how we both got matching drinks like a freaking couple set. For the record," and Luhan raises an accusing finger, his iced coffee sloshing underneath its lid, " _you_ copied  _me_."  
  
"Whatever," Minseok drawls good-naturedly. "You didn't even know the difference between an Americano and a cappuccino before I met you. You thought 'macchiato' was spelled with a K."  
  
"Excuse me!" Luhan yelps, jerking his head back in disbelief. The movement parts his soft, dark bangs, which rest boyishly over his forehead since Exo is off-duty today. Minseok notices the gap, so he seals it with a casual brush of a fingertip.  
  
The gasps are instantaneous, of course.  
  
"Skinship Level: 1," Minseok quips, and Luhan cracks up in spite of himself, crow's feet carving deep into the corners of his eyes.  
  
"Dude," Luhan says. "The 'couple photos' these girls are taking? They're going to come out so bad. We aren't even wearing BB cream. And you've got this weird, pokey pimple on your nose."  
  
Minseok groans mildly in response, preoccupied now with his own drink. He maneuvers his change back into his wallet with one hand, clutching the takeout cup in the other. When the female barista stammers out the customary, "Come again," Minseok bows politely and replies, "Thank you, see you tomorrow." The girl blushes powder pink, ducking her head. Luhan notices, but Minseok has already turned his back.  
  
They file out through the button-operated sliding door, Luhan pressing the little red knob. He places his hand on the small of Minseok's back to urge him forward when the latter doesn't exit first. Minseok bows to him in jest, and Luhan smirks. Neither of them misses the coos of  _oh-my-god-did-you-see-that_  left in their wake.  
  
"Why do you think they care so much?" Luhan asks, the wind rifling through his hair.  
  
"Who knows." They're walking back to the SM building now, and Minseok sounds tired. When Luhan shifts his gaze, he sees the older boy absorbed in his own sneakers.  
  
He barely catches it when Minseok murmurs, "Maybe it's the 'opposites attract' thing."  
  
"What do you mean?" Luhan presses. His curiosity shows in increments: first, the pursed lips, then the rounded eyes, then the craning neck.  
  
Minseok shrugs noncommittally and sips from his straw. Luhan figures the cold has put Exo's eldest in no mood to talk. In retrospect, getting their coffee on the rocks wasn't the greatest idea.  
  
Still, when Luhan stumbles over a stray soda can because he isn't watching the sidewalk—typical—Minseok is all chuckles. He holds out his hand.  
  
Luhan smacks it away in an awkward high-five. "Well? What's your verdict?"  
  
Dog-with-a-bone is the only way to describe Luhan when he gets like this, and Minseok snorts. "Well, you know, we're really close." His voice turns teasing. "But you're, like, China's prince. And I'm a mere mortal."  
  
The shove he gets for that statement isn't very gentle. "Oh, shut up," Luhan gripes. He hooks his fingers into the back of Minseok's collar, all fondness and familiarity. "You think I didn't see that barista earlier? You're so full of shit."  
  
Minseok grins, digging his hands into his pockets as they trudge back to work.  
  
  
  
  
The first time they meet, it's in SM's Youtube-famous practice room—the one with the sky-blue walls and painted clouds.  
  
Minseok is 20, bespectacled, spotty, and still benched after two years of training. The tireless dance routines have given him faint outlines of musculature, but he hasn't quite lost the baby fat yet. The people upstairs tell him to work on it. "No bloating," is what they say.  
  
Luhan, also 20, is freshly plucked from the shopping crowd at Myeongdong. The difference is vast. He is sylphlike and delicate in bone structure, almost girlish; although man's man Luhan protests at the mere mention of the word. His skin is poreless, stretched over a heart-shaped face no bigger than a man's hand. Luhan isn't really tough, but he's always acted like it to make up for his baby face.  
  
So while Minseok is well-mannered and understated, Luhan lacks the idol finesse. He's constantly joking about cup sizes and honey thighs and pert backsides—all in fluent, curse-laden Korean. Management orders him to cut it out, at least when he's in public.  
  
This is what he tells Minseok as an initial introduction.  
  
In response, Minseok gives the new Chinese recruit his name and birth year.  
  
"Yes!" Luhan crows. "We're the same age."  
  
The instructor arrives to teach them a song's-worth of choreography. For the next three hours, the two boys fine-tune their movements in front of the wall-to-wall mirror, marking the steps and rewinding the track to ease out all the wrong angles.  
  
_Awesome_ , Luhan thinks to himself when they finally get it right, bodies moving in unison, sharp and smooth.  
  
Seeing Minseok in the mirror also reminds him of how long it's been since he's eaten Chinese dumplings.  
  
"Do you know what  _baozi_ is?" he asks the boy after practice, the two of them draining bottles of mineral water.  
  
"No," Minseok replies, rolling the unfamiliar syllables over his tongue. " _Bao—_ what?"  
  
" _Baozi_ ," Luhan laughs.  
  
"What's that?"  
  
Luhan prods his plump cheek (rather forcefully, if anyone were to ask Minseok). "That's you from now on. You're Baozi."  
  
Minseok gives him a blank stare. Luhan feels awkward all of a sudden, his cheerful smile flattening into an unsure line. God forbid he's said or done anything uncool.  
  
Minseok's answer comes out of nowhere, really. "Want to play soccer? I could teach you."  
  
It takes all of two seconds for Luhan's competitive side to flare up, hot and juvenile. He actually likes this Minseok kid, but football is  _his_ thing. "I could teach  _you_ ," he huffs.  
  
Behind his glasses, Minseok's eyes betray amusement and just the slightest hint of mockery. But he only says, "Okay," and pulls up the side of his mouth in a grin.  
  
Luhan wasn't expecting that. Now he's the one with the blank expression. "Oh. Uh, okay. Cool," he says tentatively. "Sorry for getting defensive. I'm sure you're great on the field. Is that why your thighs are so huge? Wait, I didn't say that right—"  
  
Minseok bursts out laughing. He thwacks Luhan on the shoulder so hard, the latter topples over from his seated position. Minseok manages to pant, "You're weird, you know that?" before falling over in a fit of giggles. The way he kicks his feet in the air gets Luhan laughing, too, the momentary tension dissolving into nothing.  
  
That night, Minseok beats him in an impromptu match they've staged in the park with some other trainees. Luhan is completely, utterly irritated by the defeat. Still, he doesn't mind treating Minseok to a plateful of unsanctioned  _tteokbokki_ when the older boy claims it as his prize.  
  
Two bites in, Minseok spears a piece with his own toothpick and offers it to Luhan.  
  
That's when Luhan knows they're going to be really, really good friends.  
  
  
  
  
Three years later, their rapport is exactly the same.  
  
Everything else, however, is different.  
  
They've debuted together as members of M, promoted with almost instant success in China, and moved back to Korea to merge permanently with K. That last occurrence has brought all 12 members to dizzying heights of fame. The headcount in Exo's fan cafes are out of this world and on a constant upswing. Their  _sasaeng_ fans increase in number—and mindboggling insanity—every day. Some girl cuts Luhan's name into her arm with the edge of a razor.  
  
He accidentally sees the evidence on their manager's Twitter feed and doesn't sleep well for weeks.  
  
It takes Minseok slipping in next to him at night, over the covers, just to keep him company in the silence, for Luhan to catch a few hours of precious shut-eye. In the mornings, Minseok wakes him up with a quick shake of the shoulder; the two of them tumbling out of bed and racing to the bathroom for the first piss.  
  
Luhan always pretends that the sleepovers were his idea from the beginning, to save face. Luhan might be clingy, but he is  _not_ weak.  
  
They are carted off to something new every day. If not a performance, photo shoot, or show taping, then the regular bouts of dance practice and vocal training that SM has stamped into their contracts. Eventually, Luhan blocks out the awful photograph by virtue of sheer exhaustion.  
  
But some nights, when he lies awake from sucking down too much caffeine, too late in the day, he still asks Minseok to sleep next to him.  
  
It's more of an order than a request, really.  
  
"Shit, I can't sleep," Luhan starts on one such occasion.  
  
His best friend is buried under warm, powder-scented bedcovers, too tired to budge.  
  
"Minseok." Still no response. "I know you're awake. You haven't snored once and you always snore when you're asleep."  
  
Minseok breaks his silence with a sigh. "This is why you don't drink coffee at 10 at night, Luhan."  
  
"Okay, got it, Mom," Luhan ripostes. "Come on. It's two in the morning,"  
  
"Next time." Minseok's pillow muffles the words.  
  
"Now."  
  
"No."  
  
" _Come on_ , Baozi."  
  
"Fine." The blue duvet in the next bed peels aside so Minseok can slide out. He drags himself into Luhan's single and flops down onto his stomach. Luhan is on his back, and he shimmies a little to the side to make room. It's a snug, almost uncomfortable, fit. But they're used to it.  
  
"I've spoiled you," Minseok mutters, already falling into slumber. "Go to sleep."  
  
"All right," Luhan answers. The extra weight on his mattress and the way Minseok's arm lines up against his are oddly reassuring. He opens his mouth to say thank you but something more endearing tumbles out, even though it's not his style. "You're always so good to me."  
  
He doesn't hear a peep out of Minseok this time.  
  
  
  
  
When the new girl from Beijing arrives, Luhan can't stop staring. There's a batch of wide-eyed recruits buzzing in the practice room, and Luhan is outside being a creeper. All he sees are the girl's curves, the girl's legs, the girl's bee-stung lips.  
  
"Damn," he ogles out loud.  
  
Her name is Meili, Kris tells him. Luhan thinks that's only right, considering what it means in Chinese: beautiful.  
  
"And legal," Kris adds, shooting him a devilish grin. "She's nineteen."  
  
Luhan rolls his eyes. "How do you know so much about her when she just got here?" He peers back into the studio from behind the glass partition. The girl is sitting on the floor, long hair rippling over one bare shoulder. Her beauty is not the gentle kind. The swell of her breasts underneath a flimsy tank and the slice of her collarbones above them make him swallow hard.  
  
"I have my ways," M's leader replies. "Are you interested? If not, I'll—"  
  
"I'm interested," Luhan counters. "Back off."  
  
Meili isn't just gorgeous—she's receptive. Luhan lays it on thick for about a week; voice husky in her ear at every opportunity, eyes flirtatious when he shows up to watch her dance. Before he knows it, she's drawing him into the women's restroom when nobody else is around. "We have to be quiet," she whispers, and Luhan has the sense of mind to lock the door.  
  
The second time it happens, they run into Minseok in the corridor.  
  
Meili greets him with a 90-degree bow. "Hello, sunbaenim," she says before slipping away.  She winks at Luhan over her shoulder, and his lips twitch.  
  
When he turns his attention back to Minseok, his friend is staring at the ground, hands in his jean pockets.  
  
"Where are you off to?" Luhan asks, feigning nonchalance.  
  
Minseok raises his head. "Coffee shop."  
  
"I'll go with you." And Luhan slaps an arm over the other's shoulder, the way he always does.  
  
But Minseok peels away this time, and Luhan's arm is left suspended in mid-air. It takes a few seconds for him to drop it, because he isn't sure if that was a joke.  
  
"It's fine," Minseok replies, licking his lips. "I'm actually in a hurry."  
  
"But I have something to tell you," Luhan insists. He punches Minseok carelessly on the chest. "Idiot. Why are you being weird?"  
  
Minseok shakes his head. His eyes are glued to his shoes again. "I'm not."  
  
Luhan makes to tease him some more, but his friend isn't done talking.  
  
"Besides," Minseok adds quietly, "I already know what you're going to tell me."  
  
Luhan huffs out of the side of his mouth in disbelief. "Was it Kris? That bastard has no discretion."  
  
"It wasn't Kris." Minseok pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. "I just know you too well, I guess."  
  
He looks up just then and sort of smiles. Everything he's said so far has been put across in a neutral way, but his wounded expression makes Luhan's brow crease.  
  
"What's wrong?" he starts to say, but Minseok is already clearing his throat and waving him off, jogging down the corridor and out of sight.  
  
  
  
  
Days later, the same strange atmosphere is hanging over them like a cloud. No, it's more of a wall, really—one of those soundproof things that keep one recording studio's noise segregated from another's.  
  
Their conversation is different. There's much less of the kind Luhan used to take for granted—the familiar, ridiculous, exclusive kind. It's weirder at home, where they share close quarters. The awkwardness strains between them like a taut wire, and Luhan wonders what it will take to reach its breaking point.  
  
Whenever he tries to broach the subject, Minseok only replies in vague non-answers or leaves in a hurry, saying he has practice.  
  
_He's just having a bad week,_  Luhan reasons. This is not the first time Minseok has been moody. The unglamorous side of idol life is enough to turn the best people bipolar.  _It'll be fine,_  Luhan convinces himself.  
  
He spends his time with Meili, discovering little-used training rooms and secluded utility closets. It's not as thrilling as it should be, the trouble with Minseok niggling at the back of his mind.  
  
"Are you sure there's nothing going on with him?" Joonmyun prods on the fifth day. He and Luhan are watching Wong Kar Wai movies in M's living room when someone punches in the dorm's security code.  
  
It's Minseok returning from a night of vocal drills. He barely nods at them before slipping into his room.  
  
Frustration swells in Luhan's chest, a slow boil.  
  
"I'm going to find out right now," he grits through his teeth, pushing off the couch and into their shared bedroom. He slams the door behind him.  
  
"What the hell, Minseok."  
  
The other boy is lying in bed, still wearing the same clothes. At the sound of his name, he removes the arm draped over his face and looks up.  
  
"Luhan--"  
  
"Why won't you tell me what the matter is?" Luhan yells. His tone is harsher than he had intended, but he won't stop now. "I'm your best friend!"  
  
Minseok shuts his eyes. When he sighs, the sound is weary and uneven, like his entire body is struggling to expel the air.  
  
Luhan softens almost instantly. "Just tell me, Minseok." His tone is placating this time. "I can help you."  
  
"No, you can't," Minseok mutters.  
  
" _Yes_ , I  _can_ \--"  
  
"It's you."  
  
The meaning doesn't quite sink in. Luhan blinks a couple of times. "Me?"  
  
When the fear hits him, it's ice-cold. "It's me," he repeats, stomach dropping to the floor. "Did I…did I do something wrong?"  
  
"No. Of course not." Minseok drags himself upright to lean against his headboard. He's hunched over his knees, and he won't look at Luhan. His voice is painfully quiet. "You didn't do anything wrong. I'm the one who…"  
  
He trails off, shaking his head. His next exhale is a sharp one.  
  
Luhan is terribly confused. "I don't understand. You're the one who…what?"  
  
"I'm in love with you," Minseok tells him. "I've been in love with you. This whole time."  
  
Brick by carefully-placed brick, Luhan's whole world comes crashing down. "W-what?" he stutters, eyes unable to leave Minseok's face. They're both trembling.  
  
"This whole time," Minseok mumbles again. "And I know, I know about you and your girl. And I'm happy for you, I really am. And I'm sorry. For burdening you with this."  
  
Something clicks in Luhan's head, and he cuts in right there. "Minseok," he says, so very gently. "It doesn't matter. It doesn't change things. You're my best friend." He makes a move to come closer, but Minseok recoils.  
  
"I can't, I'm sorry," he whispers.  
  
"Sorry," Luhan splutters, backing up. "I didn't mean to."  
  
"I know you like girls," Minseok continues, tired and miserable. "I know you don't feel that way about me." He sounds resolute, but when Luhan catches his eye, he sees the faintest glimmer of hope, right there in the corner.  
  
The only thing Luhan can do is hang his head and repeat the all-too-familiar words: "I'm sorry."  
  
Minseok understands. He nods, perfunctory, like he had been expecting it. But his eyelashes are wet. "You need to leave me alone for a while." No one has ever seen Minseok cry before. "I need to get over you first."  
  
Luhan just stands there, helpless.  
  
Minseok dries his eyes with the back of his hand—hastily, like he doesn't want anyone to notice.  
  
"Okay," Luhan finally answers. There's a dull ache hammering against his ribcage. "I'll stay out of your way."  
  
  
  
  
The next day, Minseok moves in with Jongdae. Luhan gets the "hyung room"—as the other members put it—all to himself.  
  
The silence is maddening.  
  
  
  
  
He manages to keep his promise for a month.  
  
They still see each other every day, of course. Being in an idol group makes that unavoidable. It's the same old glittering grind it was before. Attend show taping: be charming, be memorable. Go to photo shoot: smirk, smolder. Survive the airport, avoid the crazies. Slay ‘em onstage.  
  
That last part has always been Luhan's favorite, because performing in front of a crowd gives him an indescribable high. But even the bright lights and pumping adrenaline and sea of screaming girls can't cover up the big, Minseok-shaped hole in his room.  
  
They barely talk. Minseok communicates with him just enough to keep their managers at bay. The other members know better than to get involved—not that it does anything to stop their pitying looks and meaningful pats on the back. That's pretty much all Luhan gets.  
  
It doesn't matter what Minseok is doing whenever Luhan sees him. He could be laughing with Jongdae, or playfighting with Kris, or poring over textbooks with Joonmyun, or eating jelly with Sehun, for God's sake--whatever it is, Luhan just misses his best friend. The worst is when Minseok comes back into the dance studio after a break, and he and Yixing are both holding coffee cups. Luhan sets his mouth in a straight line and feels betrayed. Coffee is  _their_ thing.  
  
He ends things with Meili.  
  
"No hard feelings, gege," she says the last time they shut themselves into an empty studio. "We weren't really together."  
  
Luhan can't disagree with her there, but he still feels a sense of responsibility. It took years, but it seems the idol etiquette lessons have turned him into more of a gentleman than he thinks he is. "Listen, Meili, you're gorgeous—"  
  
She laughs, not unpleasantly. "Oh, I don't need  _that_. I'm not in love with you or anything, if that's what you're worried about." Her eyes sparkle as she leans in conspiratorially. "You're gorgeous, too, but we were just having fun, right? And I had a lot of fun with you."  
  
She kisses him one last time, open-mouthed. Then she turns and motions for him to fasten her bra clasp.  
  
"Next time," Luhan says, doing the honors, "you should call the guy you like 'oppa.'"  
  
Meili grins. "Okay, gege. You, too."  
  
He doesn't get the chance to ask her what she means, because she's already tossing her little dress over her head and traipsing out the door.  
  
  
  
  
And then the month is up, and his willpower gives out.  
  
He doesn't even know what triggers it, but suddenly, Luhan is standing in the doorway of Jongdae's room, tapping his foot.  
  
"Minseok."  
  
The young man glances up from the comic book he is reading. His hair is in his eyes. Surprise registers in a faint blush across the bridge of his nose, fading into the apples of his cheeks.  
  
Luhan pretends not to notice. "Can we be friends again?"  
  
Minseok doesn't reply, but he doesn't break eye contact either. Luhan takes that as a good sign.  
  
"Look, I just—I miss you a lot." He sighs. He knows he's being selfish, but he can't help it. "How long are we going to have to avoid each other?"  
  
Minseok still doesn't say a word, and Luhan's shallow well of patience runs dry. "Don't you miss me at all?" he grumbles, and it's very much a complaint.  
  
Surprisingly, that does the trick. "Yeah," Minseok answers at last, and he ekes out a small but genuine smile. "I do."  
  
Luhan's heart skips a beat, which he credits to the excitement of maybe, just maybe, getting his buddy back. "So, are we good?"  
  
The silence seems to stretch on for days before Minseok breaks it with a chuckle. "Yeah, Luhan. We're good."  
  
Luhan personally carries all of his stuff back into their room, and Minseok brews him coffee as a reward.  
  
  
  
  
It could be at an airport (it usually is). It could be at the unsecured entrance, and later, exit, of a performance hall. It could even be in front of the SM building, where there's always a dozen or so stragglers playing truant from school.  
  
Where it happens and how it's documented through the grapevine of the internet doesn't matter anymore.  
  
Because now, Luhan could care less what their fans "might have seen," how they think he and Minseok "are." He just tightens his grip over his friend when the crowd surges around them, or he grabs Minseok's hand so the latter doesn't get pushed down by the roiling wave of people. He gets the two of them in and out of these zones, like those gun-toting players in Sehun and Jongin's video games--and Minseok does the same for him.  
  
Luhan stops complaining about the laser-like focus they receive in public. He doesn't mind those stalkerish fan accounts as much, either. Not the benign ones that describe how Minseok is constantly fixing Luhan's hair; not even the bogus ones that claim Luhan's hands were somewhere they shouldn't have been when "Baozi" sat next to him at so-and-so award show.  
  
Frankly, he's just glad Minseok is sitting next to him again, and speaking to him all the time, and basically letting Luhan back into his space completely.  
  
If Luhan's being really honest with himself, he'll admit how he likes seeing those photos of the two of them from the back, whispering together, thick as thieves, just like before. Screw the lewd captions underneath.  
  
He glosses over the fact that when Minseok leans over to whisper to anyone else, Luhan feels a peculiar lurch in the pit of his stomach.  
  
  
  
  
Backstage at some huge award show—Luhan can't keep track anymore—it's a marketplace. He loses Minseok somewhere between their dressing room and the communal toilet. The crush of stylists weighed down by garment bags and accessories, of hair and makeup people elbowing around each other for touch-ups, is nothing if not familiar. There's the steady stream of other idols, too, rookies and veterans alike getting the same treatment from their people.  
  
He finally spots Minseok seated in a corner, chatting with Yixing. Their discussion is hushed but animated, and Minseok's got this hazy smile plastered on his face.  
  
Ever since the two of them patched things up, Luhan hates to be left out of anything.  
  
So he perches on the arm of Minseok's seat, resting his hand on the other's head. He nods in Yixing's direction. "What's up, boys?"  
  
Yixing singsongs, "Oh, you know, just asking Minseok-hyung about his hot date."  
  
Luhan stiffens—only to shake off the feeling immediately. What was that?  
  
He trains his eyes on Minseok. "You went on a date?" The wounded sound of his own voice catches Luhan off-guard—again.  
  
Minseok doesn't seem to hear it, though. He just laughs, not even turning to face his seatmate. "Does it count as a date if it was just in the van?"  
  
Luhan ignores him. "When?"  
  
"Like, two nights ago?"  
  
"With whom?"  
  
"Just someone I met."  
  
"Were you going to tell me?"  
  
Minseok looks up just then, and Luhan's hand glances off the side of his head. The older boy looks apologetic. "Of course I was. I just never got the chance. So, yeah," and Minseok lowers his eyes at this, "I met someone."  
  
Luhan feels his body freeze once more, a shooting sensation from the base of his spine to the crown of his head. This time, he doesn't fight it. "Is…your date…"  
  
"He's not an idol," Minseok volunteers, deciphering the hidden meaning. "He's a friend of the family's."  
  
Luhan semi-nods and makes a faint sound at the back of his throat. Apart from that, he doesn't know how to react. Partly because he is shocked at how casually Minseok drops the "he" in front of Yixing. But mostly because Luhan's heart is pounding—fast, loud, and merciless--in a heat of jealousy.  
  
He must look completely bewildered by now, because Minseok's expression is slipping swiftly into worry. "What's the matter?"  
  
Luhan only shakes his head, one-two, as if to say, "Nothing." He stands and feigns a few outfit adjustments, willing himself to act normal.  
  
He knows it's a lost cause when Yixing unleashes that stupid, tinny laugh of his. "You think we didn't know?"  
  
"Know what?" Luhan straightens his tie, skirting around Minseok's stare.  
  
"That hyung likes guys."  
  
The color hits Luhan's face like a bucket of paint.  _Guys,_  he intones, dwelling on the plural.  _I thought he only liked me._  
  
"Everybody knew," Minseok quietly explains, his fingers ruffling an apology into Luhan's bangs.  
  
Their hair person is going to murder him, Luhan thinks. He shouldn't be letting Minseok this close under the circumstances, Luhan reasons. How could Minseok trust everyone else before him, Luhan fumes. But Luhan feels himself leaning into the touch, anyway.  
  
"You think you're the only one who knows his secrets?" Yixing teases. "He's close to the rest of us, too!"  
  
Luhan only catches the dregs of what Yixing says next; something cheesy like, "We are one, remember?" But Minseok's hand is on the back of his neck, reassuring and platonic, and Luhan's chest is burning with regret.  
  
  
  
  
Despite his verbal (and non-verbal) apologies, Minseok still keeps his budding romance under wraps. Luhan knows exactly when he's coming home from a date, because Minseok will be humming.  
  
It's never anything obvious; not one of their songs, or even their seniors' songs. The melody will be unfamiliar, lilting and sweet, and Luhan knows it's probably what Minseok and his date were listening to in the car.  
  
"Minseok's date" is the only thing Luhan will call him. He knows the guy's name—there was no getting around it in a group as nosy as Exo—but he won't say it. He refuses to.  
  
He only asks, "How'd it go?" when Minseok enters their room, humming a tune. And Minseok will easily reply, "Good."  
  
After that, they talk about something else. Often, when they're in the middle of a conversation, Luhan will zone out and just watch the way Minseok speaks; how his mouth curves around certain syllables like they're pieces of candy, how his eyes crinkle when he finds something amusing or odd. He wonders if Minseok did the same thing in those bygone years, when Luhan didn't have a clue.  
  
Minseok will eventually notice that he's been relegated to a monologue. For a minute, he'll fix Luhan with a strange, probing look. But Luhan always glances away when he's caught out, and in the beat it takes him to swing back into the conversation, Minseok's curious expression has disappeared.  
  
  
  
  
The night before Luhan flies back to China for the Lunar New Year, Minseok comes home with a new coffee mug. It's painted a simple shade of blue, his favorite color.  
  
He isn't humming, oddly enough, but Luhan can tell the gift is from that guy.  
  
"How'd it go?" he asks, pretending to text at the same time.  
  
Minseok mutters something he doesn't quite catch. But the gruffness of it makes Luhan's head snap up like a marionette's.  
  
"What?" The charade with his phone is forgotten.  
  
Minseok has his back turned. He tosses the mug on his bed, grabs a towel and some sleeping clothes, and makes his way to the door.  
  
"Minseok?" Luhan has practiced this voice before, the kind that's calibrated to sound perfectly fine, when all he feels is hurt. "Sorry, I didn't hear you."  
  
"I said it's none of your business." Minseok's never used this voice before, the kind that's calibrated to sting, and succeeds.  
  
It makes the fight in Luhan flare up. "You're rude tonight."  
  
"I don't mean to be," Minseok mumbles, and Luhan feels like the asshole now. "Just…please stay out of it."  
  
Then he's trudging down the hall to hit the shower, and Luhan is pulling the covers over his head with a string of repentant curses.  
  
They don't get the chance to make up in the morning, not properly. Minseok is still lying in bed, on his side, when Luhan puts a gloved hand on his back and says, "I'm leaving." All four Chinese members are driven by their manager to the airport, where they split up on flights directed to their respective hometowns.  
  
He doesn't hear from Minseok while he's away.  
  
  
  
  
It's not a long vacation by any means. Still, when Luhan returns to Seoul, it feels like he's been gone for ages.  
  
The others are waylaid at K's dorm, lured in by the smell of frying food. Luhan says hello to all the members he sees—but Minseok isn't one of them, so he crosses the hall to M's quarters. He has something to say.  
  
The lights are off, and the first thing he notices is the mild reek of soju. He jumps when he hears Minseok's voice in the darkness.  
  
"You're back."  
  
"I'm back." Luhan flips the light switch, and they're squinting at each other. "Have you been drinking?"  
  
"Earlier." Minseok gets up from the couch and walks over, rubbing at his eyes. The hood of his sweatshirt is pulled over his head, and his jeans are wrinkled and riding up at the knees. "I fell asleep as soon as I got in."  
  
Luhan starts to ask, "Were you on a date?" But his voice peters out when he remembers the last time they spoke. "I don't mean to pry," he amends hurriedly.  
  
The boy across him only shakes his head. They're just an arm's length away from each other. When they lock eyes, Luhan recognizes that expression as the one he's never quite figured out.  
  
"We broke up," Minseok says simply.  
  
Luhan's heart leaps to his throat. He releases the handle of his luggage and shrugs out of his backpack, placing it on the floor.  
  
"When?" he asks in a measured voice, hoping it's hitting the correct note of concern.  
  
"The day before you left."  
  
"I'm sorry," Luhan lies. His true feelings are closer to relief--and want. "Are you okay?"  
  
"No, I'm not," Minseok answers, so offhanded it's jarring. "I'm terrible."  
  
"I'm sorry," Luhan says again, even more unsettled. "I should never have snapped at you that night."  
  
Suddenly, Minseok is chuckling. The sound is hollow, humorless. " _I_ snapped at  _you_." His face flickers. "Don't you even want to know why?"  
  
"You were upset, Minseok, I don't take it against you—"  
  
"That's not what I meant!" There's no masking how pissed off Minseok is right now. "Aren't you going to ask me what happened? Why it didn't work out? Isn't that what you're supposed to ask when your best friend breaks up with someone?"  
  
Panicked at this sudden turn in the conversation, Luhan reaches out. "Baozi—"  
  
"Don't call me that," Minseok snaps, fending off his arm. The bones of their wrists smack together, hard. "It doesn't mean anything to you."  
  
"What are you  _talking_ about?" Luhan exclaims, nearing the end of his rope.  
  
The anger in Minseok's face could almost pass for heartache. "You have no idea about anything, do you, asshole?"  
  
And Luhan finally breaks.  
  
"I could say the same thing about you!" He's actually yelling, fingers splayed out in frustration. "You have no fucking idea!"  
  
The telltale curl of a lip indicates that Minseok is about to start yelling, too. Before he can, Luhan plants his hands firmly on his friend's shoulders—not a warning, but a plea.  
  
"Listen—just  _listen_ , Minseok," he begs, decibels lower. "I don't know what's happening, I don't know, I don't know." His breath comes out shaky, and he pulls in another. "But, Minseok…I think about you. I think about you all the fucking time. And I  _feel_ things, everything, all of it, things I'm not supposed to feel. I can't help it."  
  
Minseok stands dumbfounded, which is good, because Luhan isn't finished.  
  
"Do you know what it felt like when you were seeing someone? I was a wreck. I still am." Here, his voice is no louder than a whisper. "Is it too late? Please, please, tell me it isn't."  
  
The other manages to get a word in this time. "Let me talk, Luhan," he chides, so very gently, and the déjà vu is a soft caress. "Do you know why I broke up with him?"  
  
"It can't be too late," Luhan mumbles senselessly, still caught up in his confession.  
  
"He gave me a mug," Minseok continues. "Said it was so I would think about him every time I drank coffee. Meaning, all the time."  
  
Luhan drops his head, exhausted. His hands remain where they are, an anchor.  
  
"But coffee is  _our_ thing," Minseok says, and it pulls Luhan out of the quicksand, inch by inch.  
  
"Yes," he agrees, eyes lifting to the face in front of his.  
  
"So I ended it."  
  
Luhan holds his breath.  
  
"I did it," Minseok whispers, "because I tried, and I just couldn't give you up."  
  
The exhale feels exquisite. "You still…"  
  
Minseok understands. He always does. "I still."  
  
"Me, too," Luhan breathes. It's so easy now, his chest lighter than it's been in months.  
  
"I wasn't sure." There is a quiver in Minseok's voice, and he's speaking in earnest. "You said you didn't see me like that. But I see the way you look at me sometimes, and a guy can only hope."  
  
Luhan's hands are moving quickly, leaving broad shoulders for bare neck and warm cheek. He draws close, so the tips of their noses are touching. "I think I fell for you a long time ago," he admits, thrilling at the way Minseok's breath ghosts over his lips. "I just figured it out."  
  
"Finally" is the last word Minseok utters before Luhan pulls him in—and then they're both falling, falling, falling, into their first kiss.  
  
  
  
  
Later, Luhan will tell Minseok that he's never kissed anyone like that before—slow and powerful and perfect, like he's afraid it will be the last time.  
  
"Yeah, right," Minseok teases. "Half the recruits in this town have gotten your kiss of death. Who was the sexy one that YG snapped up? Meili?"  
  
"Shut up," Luhan whines, nosing at Minseok's cheek. "I didn't love any of them." He leans back for a second, voice defiant. "I'm sure you loved the ones before me. You're the type."  
  
A languid smile flits across Minseok's face, and he traces Luhan's jawline with a featherlight touch. "There were no others," Minseok tells him. "Before you. After you."  
  
That's bait enough for Luhan, who dips to meet those parted lips, so sweet and compliant.  
  
"It was always you," Minseok murmurs, and he presses in for more.  
  
  
  
  
_Epilogue_

This crowd has been kept waiting far too long. There are no more scattered shrieks, no misplaced swoons of anticipation. There is only a wall of voices, thousands-strong, chanting a single word, over and over again.  
  
_Exo. Exo. Exo. Exo._  
  
"Let's have some fun, boys!" Kris yells over the din, already stationed in the wings of the stage. Joonmyun thumps him on the back, and the rest of the members hoot and clap.  
  
"You ready?" Luhan asks with a glint in his eye.  
  
"Ready when you are," Minseok says, and he winks.  
  
Luhan laces their fingers together, tugging up so he can peck Minseok on the knuckles.  
  
"Let's give them something to talk about, then."

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a gift for [mapofwords](https://mapofwords.livejournal.com/) on LJ.


End file.
